The Miskatonic Manuscript (Case Files of Matthew Hunter and Chantal Stevens Book 2) Read Online Free PDF

it?”
    “I guess you could say that. It’s all most people do. Tabbyhunter, can you play a movie for us? Play a movie?” And then, raising her voice a little, “Chantal, are you still over there?”
    “Yes.”
    “Could you check Music and see if we have Michael Jackson’s Dancing the Dream ?”
    “Sure thing.”
    Tabbyhunter looked back and forth between Marian and the customer, then turned back to his screen, took his right forepaw, and pressed one of the large colored buttons on his special child’s keyboard. It took a second to cue up, and then there were images of pigeons pecking for scraps of bread on a piazza. After about 10 seconds a tower clock chimed and they all took off with a great flapping of wings. Mr. Cuddles, a 20-pound orange fur-ball, jumped up on the counter next to Tabbyhunter’s keyboard to see what the fuss was about.
    “That’s wonderful. It’s just random, though, right?”
    “Tabbyhunter, can we see the squirrel? Can you play us the squirrel movie?”
    Chantal came strolling up, reported “No joy” on the book in question.
    The gray tabby pushed another button. On the screen, a frustrated squirrel was trying to climb up a pole to a bird feeder — a pole which had apparently been greased. Mr. Cuddles, of course, walked around to see if he could find the squirrel behind the monitor. Tabbyhunter gave his larger orange companion a look of disdain. Mr. Cuddles, though huge and powerful, was not a genius.
    “Here it is,” said Marian. “Yes, Dancing the Dream is available online, we can probably have it for you in about a week or so. Figure about 90 dollars if you want a nice hardcover first in jacket, unsigned, or there’s a reprint from Transworld.”
    “Ninety dollars? ”
    “There are Michael Jackson collectors, ma’am, I assume they’ve driven up the price of the first. As I was saying, though, Transworld did a later reprint, looks like a hardcover with no jacket, we could probably get you one of those for about thirty.”
    The customer was eyeing Tabbyhunter in a slightly uncomfortable manner.
    “They’re predators,” Marian explained. “They’re crafty. It’s no different from running around and waiting for the mouse to come out the other end of a hollow log. They’re learned behaviors. Would you like me to order either of those books for you?”
    * * *
    In the little beachfront town of Ocean City, New Jersey, an 80-year-old retired congressman and ambassador named Franklin Roosevelt Howard sat watching the afternoon news. The newsgal briefly summarized Windsor Annesley’s sentencing and the “deadly threats against law enforcement and the judiciary” he had made there. She emphasized the fact that the miscreant “won’t be having much of a chance to carry out those threats — District Judge Fidelio Crustio sentenced him to multiple life terms … to run consecutively.”
    “Now there’s one bastard who got what he deserved,” cackled the former congressman. “Handing out narcotic LSD, and he has the nerve to call his operation a ‘church.’ My God!”
    He reached for his cane and pushed himself to his feet out of his maroon Naugahyde recliner, causing his wife to look up from her crossword. “I’m going to mix myself a drink to celebrate that one, dear. Join me?”

C HAPTER T HREE
    The original plan had been to use Matthew’s office, a space that was partly wedged under the stairs. It had evidently been used, originally, as some kind of glorified maid’s or butler’s pantry. Three people would normally have been a squeeze, but the place was now so crammed with boxes of books awaiting pricing decisions — Matthew and Chantal having just returned from the other side of the pond — that after some tentative attempts to re-stack the clutter, they’d decided the bookstore’s kitchen would do.
    The kitchen showed four doorways — one to the back stairs, one outside door to the landing and side yard, one to the old pantry where they now kept the safes,